Gemotions

The letter arrived in the mail, formal and impersonal. The Thompsons requesting a meeting, "regarding the boundary line tree." He threw the envelope across the room. He knew the subject. The old oak, the one that filtered the harsh afternoon sun, the one he loved.

He felt a sudden, inexplicable anger. The Thompsons, with their shiny new house and their perfectly manicured lawn, the kind of neighbors who always needed something. He paced the room, running a hand through his hair. He remembered their constant renovations, their relentless pursuit of perfection.

He picked up the phone, and with a voice filled with an unfamiliar anger, he dialed their number. He would see to it that they understood what a hassle this would be for them.